


you wouldn't wonder why (you hear 'they don't deserve you')

by notalone91



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Character Revival, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Ghosts, Insecurity, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Scar, Stanley Uris Lives, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend, a kiss on a place of insecurity, because like, but like, eddie hates his scars, instead of plopping you down in the middle of the action, it has to happen to get them there, it's a lot of exposition that has (maybe) been done to death, so we narrate it, there's SO little dialogue in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91
Summary: Tumblr User SoftPlaidPajamas Prompted "21. ...on a place of insecurity (Reddie 👀👀👀)" and I took a meandering path to get there.After coming back from the dead, there's only one place Eddie Kaspbrak can think of to turn- The man he'd been willing to run away with the night before.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	you wouldn't wonder why (you hear 'they don't deserve you')

Eddie Kaspbrak stood before Richie Tozier’s apartment door, all his Earthly possessions in his hands, terrified of the outcome. He’d been dead not two days earlier, after all. What was he supposed to do when everything he wanted was on the other side of the door. Just fucking knock, he supposed.

He’d taken some time to get his shit together once he crawled out of the wreckage in Derry. He could remember snatches of what had happened and, after a brief phone call to Stan, was sure that it was all real and that everything they’d seen together had really happened. Stan, bless him, had sworn that he’d take the information back to his grave with him, especially considering that he wasn’t ready to reintroduce the Losers to his life. His re-entry had been hard enough on Patty and he certainly had some explaining to do where she was concerned. The cheap Ricky Ricardo impression he’d given on the word “‘splaining” had made Eddie’s heart ache. (His heart. It was beating. And he could feel things. Jesus, was that a trip. Even if the longing had been there all along, it was more pointed and undeniable now that everything was so tangible.) 

It was just the levity Eddie had needed to propel him into what he wanted out of this new life. If he recalled his physics correctly, Newton’s First Law states that “ Every object persists in its state of rest or uniform motion - in a straight line unless it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed on it.” It is entirely possible that he was misremembering it, because when he thought about the first time this thought had been set into his brain, he was in sixth grade and really only paying attention to the mop of untidy dark curls atop the head of the boy in front of him who had a magical property of his own- the ability to turn every scientific theory into something that was likely to get them both sent out of the class. They hadn’t nicknamed Richie ‘Trashmouth’ for nothing. Motion, friction, energy, attraction- How was Eddie supposed to get anything done when Richie was so close to him saying words like that? It was downright… pathetic. 

Pathetic is what it was, but Eddie followed that trajectory right to his own doorstep and the For Sale sign with innocuous red balloons affixed to the post that only made him jump a little. It was dead, so the balloons were nothing to be afraid of. But if Myra was inside… that was a real threat, but it was one he had to deal with. And he had to deal with it on his own terms.

Deal with it, he did. He told Myra everything and, somehow, she believed every word of it. The way that “awful” comedian had appeared on her doorstep, disheveled and carrying Eddie’s suitcases and crying and wearing Eddie’s sweatshirt. She didn’t know what his deal was- he hadn’t stayed long enough for her to ask, rude as he was, dropping the worst news of her life on her lap and then bolting like it was no concern to him, she had whined- but that combined with Eddie’s scattered story was enough. 

“So, this is all done now, right?” she asked. “No more hiding? No more running?”

Eddie took a deep breath. “Something like that. No more hiding, definitely,” he said with a laugh. “But there is one more thing…”

Of course, admitting that he was still in love with his childhood sweetheart- who was, indeed, the comedian who had appeared wearing his sweatshirt to break the news to her- wasn’t easy. After hours of contemplative tears from Eddie and angry sobs from Myra, after the name-calling and the blame and the picture frames were thrown, Eddie left without looking back. He didn’t want anything from her, not the house, not any money, no words or forgiveness. He was free.

Free and set adrift. 

Fuck.

He hadn’t thought about that. How exactly was he supposed to go about being alive when literally everyone, including the fucking government thought he was dead? There was only one person he could think of to ask. Luckily, Stan was still awake. At 1:27 a.m. On a Thursday.

> Eddie (1:27 am): Does the government know you’re alive?
> 
> Stanley (1:29 am): Ha. Yes. Apparently, people are declared legally dead all the time through clerical error? Luckily, Patty hadn’t touched any of my documents. 
> 
> Eddie (1:29 am): Interesting. I took mine to Derry with me. So who the fuck knows. I have my wallet, but my social and my passport were in my carry on. Myra said only my suitcases made it back.
> 
> Stanley (1:29 am): I do.
> 
> Eddie (1:30 am): you what?
> 
> Stanley (1:34 am): I… may have told Bill I’m alive. So, I may or may not know some more stuff. Like where your carry-on bag is.

Eddie blinked down at his phone and cursed to himself. He had expected as much. Richie. 

Of course, his reintroduction to society would have to mean facing Richie first.

What he wasn’t ready for, though, was for all of the Losers to know that he was alive. He needed a minute to process before telling any of them. He slid the phone across the table of the diner he’d slid into to gather his thoughts. He leaned over, bracing his forehead in his palms and breathed in the cup of coffee, wondering if somewhere in L.A. a certain comedian might be doing something similar. 

> Stanley (1:38 am): Eddie?

His phone buzzed until it nearly slid onto the booth opposing him. Watching the lights speed by off the New Jersey Turnpike. His MTA card had gotten him to Newark and he was pretty stuck on where to go from there. 

The first thought had been to stay with Stan, if he’d let him...

> Stanley (1:41 am): He’s the only one I told and he’s currently on my couch and I can promise you he hasn’t told anyone.

But that was, apparently, out.

Staving off the inherent panic that coursed through him at that, he started his next plan. Homeless shelter? Pass. Can you imagine the germs? Back to Myra? No. Definitely not. He wasn’t ready to tell Richie… whatever he had to tell him. But going back to Myra was about as counterproductive as any idea he could think of. Derry? Why? There was nothing in Derry.

Seeing what he and Stan had, he knew that any suggestion of his continued or renewed existence on this plane would immediately return to Richie. He thought about Mike’s vast knowledge. He’d certainly have a plan together in less than a minute. But he’d tell Richie. Bill would strong arm him to Richie kicking and screaming. Ben would probably cry and hug him. That would definitely be the most attractive option, but there would be one of two outcomes: a guilt trip leading to Eddie calling Richie or Ben doing it himself. Bev was out. Between the responsibility he knew she felt for his death in the first place and her devotion to the lunkhead, she’d probably kick his ass straight across the country. Make him walk to L.A. while she drove, throwing things at him half the way and yelling at him the other half. 

But then…

No. No. The Losers, all of them, were out.

As he gathered his belongings and started looking for the waitress to pay for his coffee, his phone buzzed in his hand again.

> Stanley (1:41 am): I haven’t told him about you.
> 
> Stanley (1:41 am): If that’s what you’re worried about.
> 
> Stanley (1:44 am): I’m sorry, Eddie.

Standing in the parking lot, he took a deep breath and stared at the arrows for the train station. He knew that the airport was nearby. His phone still had Lyft installed and it was linked to his and Myra’s joint account. He could do it… But how?

> Stanley (1:50 am): Come on, man.

On the other side of the country was the man he loved. The man who loved him back. He knew it. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t been ready to tell him and all he wanted was to be in his arms; to feel his heartbeat pressed against his own.

The last thing he could remember before he lost consciousness in the depths under Neibolt was Richie, kneeling beside him. He had tried to stop the bleeding; had tried to keep Eddie calm. “This may not be the time to tell you this, but,” he’d whispered, pulling Eddie close to him, “I love you, Eddie. And,” he took a deep breath, blinking back tears and steadying his trembling voice for Eddie’s sake, “if you make it out of this cave, there won’t ever be a day that I won’t tell you that.” In that moment, Eddie was sure he was hallucinating. He squeezed Richie’s hand and tried to tell him to fuck off, but the blood filling his mouth was too big of a hindrance. “So, if you could not die, I’d really appreciate it.” Richie pressed his jacket down on the wound a little tighter and let Eddie tug at the leg of his jeans. “It’ll be the last favor I ask you until I ask you to marry me, if you’ll have me.”

He could remember all of that. He could even remember how, the night before, when they were planning to leave, he’d appeared at Richie’s door at the townhouse and declared, “I know I have shit timing, Richie, but please, hear me out.” He pushed the slightly ajar door open handily and let himself in unannounced. “I’m coming to L.A. with you.”

Stopping in his tracks, Richie turned to face the intruder. “You… What?”

“I’m coming to L.A. with you,” he repeated patiently. “I don’t know if you remember what I remember but here’s the thing: I don’t want to go back to her. If I have you back now, I’m a grownup and I get to decide what happens and, Richie, I love you and I can’t risk losing you again,” he said, sitting on the bed and pulling his long-forgotten ex onto the bed with him. “I’m not 16. I don’t have to watch you wave from the back seat of your parents Dodge and then never see you again.” He looked down at his hand, now buried between Richie’s. “I never even got to say goodbye to you then. It was too quick. I loved you until the moment I didn’t remember that I did. You walking into that restaurant tonight…” he sighed, trying not to sound as pathetic as he knew he could, “it was like everything I’d been looking for fell right into place. Just, ‘Oh. Oh, there you are.’”

The ensuing silence was deafening. Eddie watched Richie for any hint of his thoughts, but 27 years of repression had done impressive things for his emotional masking. He was just about to try to talk his way out of it when Richie let his hand drop to Eddie’s thigh. When he finally raised his eyes to meet Eddie’s, he opened his mouth to answer, but Ben’s raised voice from downstairs jarred him out of it. Still, the smile on his face and slight nod told Eddie everything he needed.

With a groan, he dug in his pocket for his phone and finally acknowledged Stan’s texts.

> Eddie (1:58 am): I have to figure out a way to get a flight to California without a fucking credit card or bank account, don’t i? i don’t think you can buy a plane ticket cash can you?
> 
> Stanley (1:59 am): Consider it my apology?
> 
> Eddie (1:59 am): 🖕
> 
> Stanley (1:59 am): 😘

Eddie smiled down at his phone, despite himself. God, he’d fucking missed Stan.

Somehow, the first person Eddie had found after he died was not his father as he’d hoped or his mother as he’d feared. It was Stanley. They’d observed the remaining Losers victory against It. They’d sat on the ledge at the quarry and observed their mourning from a respectful distance.

Most importantly, though, they’d comforted and consoled each other. They may not have been kids anymore, but they were still so young. There was so much life ahead of each of them. Stan described Patty in such vivid detail that Eddie could see her almost as clearly as he could Bill or Bev and they were less than a hundred yards away from him. Eddie had lamented the years spent with Myra who was every bit his mother, just ar Richie had so keenly observed. Truthfully, he admitted as the Losers began to breach the shore one by one, he knew why. If he couldn’t have Richie, he wasn’t supposed to have anyone else. Even when he couldn’t remember, he knew. There were nights where he’d sneak out of bed and watch his guerilla attack style street comedy show with the volume low, cross-legged on the floor and mere inches from the screen, and imagine that he was right beside him, offering the passers-by a dollar to name a president who oversaw a war. 

Stan draped a comforting arm over his friend’s shoulder and grew frustrated when he could neither feel Eddie’s arm below his nor put any sort of motion to nudge at him as he wanted so desperately to do. Nothing he could do would assuage the tears falling from his eyes. He didn’t even seem to notice the pressure on his shoulders. It was useless. 

All they could do was wait. Eddie couldn’t help but wonder if that was all he’d ever do.

> Stanley (2:05 am): Your flight leaves at 9. United 703. I’ll forward the confirmation. Godspeed and good luck with that.
> 
> Eddie (2:05 am): Thanks Stan the man love you.
> 
> Stanley (2:06 am): Yeah, yeah. Save the mushy stuff for Richie.
> 
> Stanley (2:07 am): Love you, too.

The pair of them stayed bound to Derry until the last Loser left. 

If any of the Losers who’d made it out of Neibolt had been asked who the last to leave was, they’d likely all have said Mike. He’d finally packed up his apartment and driven off into the sunset and that should have been that. Stan and Eddie knew better. And they knew which person had the habit of letting whatever trash they thought they could get away with fall from their lips. 

Almost a week after Mike had given his first update, a picture to the groupchat of himself with Patty in front of Stan’s grave with the caption ‘checking in with Stan the Man. Ran into Patty and took her out for lunch. She’s amazing. He was a lucky guy. I miss him a lot today,’ Richie finally crawled out of bed at the Townhouse, almost busted his face on the dresser as he tripped over an empty bourbon bottle. That would have been par for the course, he figured, if he was playing. But he wasn’t playing. Nothing about this was a game. The picture stayed bright on the phone and Stan felt something churn inside him where his stomach would once have been. He sat down on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Eddie looked between the two. He reached a hand out to Stanley, who remained unmoved. For a moment, he stayed in the middle, but when Richie moved, so did he.

As he stumbled toward the bathroom and looked at the little black bag sitting neatly on the back of the toilet. Richie hadn’t planned for being in Derry for more than a night. A month had passed and he was still laying in bed in stale, wrinkled clothes that smelled even more of death than they had when he’d crawled out of the quarry; death and alcohol and sick and sweat and something sour that Eddie couldn’t place and didn’t want to. He sat cross-legged on the closed lid of the toilet and just watched as Richie doused his face in cold water. He wanted to offer a towel. He wanted to stand behind him and wrap him in his arms. Fuck… He just wanted to help.

Fuck it. 

He rose and did exactly that. He stood on his tiptoes and rested his chin on Richie’s shoulder. “I know you can’t hear me, Richie,” Eddie whispered, raking his hands slowly up and down Richie’s sides, “but I hope on some level you get this. It’s time for you to go home, man.” He pressed his cheek to the taller man’s back as he stood upright. Eddie couldn’t tell that the hairs on the back of his neck had risen. He couldn’t know that Richie was still drunk enough, still asleep enough, still desperate enough to be receptive. “You need to shower. You smell like shit and look even worse. I love you and this is killing me. Killing me and I’m already dead,” he laughed grimly. “Please, take care of yourself, Richie. Take care of yourself like I would.” 

If he were alive, Eddie knew he’d have been crying as he pulled away and left the room to sit beside Stan. Even though the bed didn’t move under him and he didn’t touch Stan, the man looked over at his friend. “Feel better now?”

“No,” he answered. “Not at all.” Still, whether or not it helped Eddie, the shower taps creaked and then started to run and a wave of relief washed over Eddie. Maybe Richie could hear him. Could feel him. Maybe, just maybe, he had helped after all. 

There was an energy back in the room as Richie began gathering his stuff, along with Eddie’s and loaded it into the car. It was too quick, only two trips, but the townhouse was cleared out before either of the spirits knew what was really happening. Richie zipped up a grey hoodie over his T-shirt and Stan didn’t understand why Eddie smiled. Still, to himself, he wondered what else of his Richie was going to keep. 

The two departed Losers stood on the steps, watching as Richie sat in the car, fiddling with the electronics. “I don’t want to stay here, Stan,” Eddie said. 

“Tell me about it,” Stan answered. There was a moment of tense quiet as they looked at each other. “Do you think we could?” 

Eddie shrugged. He didn’t need any more of a suggestion than that. He walked toward the car and climbed in through the open passenger window. It worked. He called to Stan and beckoned that he should do the same while he climbed into the back seat. “Told you I was coming with you, Richie,” he said, doing the best he could to kiss him on the cheek. A small smile played at the corner of Richie’s mouth and he, for the briefest of moments- so brief, in fact, that neither Stan nor Eddie noticed-, brushed his fingers against the spot where Eddie’s lips had been.

But nothing’s ever that easy. The car rumbled to life and with every moment, the two unseen passengers moved further from it. First, Eddie noticed his hearing go. Stan’s hand began to slip through the armrest like wet sand through a sieve. He tried to call out to Eddie to check if it was happening to him too, but his voice was nothing but the faintest breeze. Finally, just as they reached the “Now Leaving Derry” sign, Eddie began to lose sight of Stan. It was as though someone was quickly filtering him out of the car. And then, there was nothing. Blackness. Dark. Vast and empty and barren.

The faintest pinprick of light. 

As his senses returned, Eddie wasn’t surprised to find that he wasn’t in the car with Richie. He was more surprised that he wasn’t back at home with Myra, because if he was going to be destined to haunt anywhere, it may as well be there. He began testing his movement, grasping in the dark for anything. Under his palms (which he could feel!) in the pocket of his jeans (which were wet and heavy!) was his cell phone (which he could touch and retrieve!). “Stan!” He called out, sitting up with a groan. “Stan, I think we’re-”

He looked around and it hit him. He wasn’t at the townhouse either. He was in the cave under Neibolt. Where he died. Which, if the strange memories resurfacing were anything to go by, meant that Stan was in his bathroom in Georgia. Which meant that he was going to have to walk out of there alone, after all. 

When he stood up, he began to move. Slowly at first, still testing out his joints. A little stiff, he surmised, but it would loosen as he went. He moved through the Clown’s labyrinthian habitat, feeling a little like a lab rat, but his prize wasn’t cheese or water, it was freedom. But, cheese did sound good. And water. And fucking coffee. His stomach growled loudly to remind him that he had, indeed, not eaten in a month. His fingers raised to his neck and, yep, that’s a pulse- steady and strong, especially for… 

He stopped dead in his tracks. In one swift movement, he had his shirt and Richie’s jacket off, revealing an angry red and purple scar on his chest. Healed, he supposed, but still there. He trailed the backside of his thumb over the once gaping wound on his cheek. There, too, raised and obvious. Of course. He replaced his clothing and started to move once more. He silently wondered what it actually looked like. Eddie wasn’t a vain man, per se but he knew the value of keeping up appearances and it would certainly be tough to convince anyone that…

Richie. Richie was a celebrity and constantly in the public eye. He couldn’t be with someone with such grotesque… Who was so… 

It didn’t matter, he resigned. How was he going to get to Richie anyway? 

Just two days later, there he was, standing on the steps of a huge apartment building in clothes Stan had sent to an Amazon mailbox for him, Eddie let himself in. Bill had given Stan the information “for when he was ready,” not realizing that the he in question was not Stanley himself but instead all 5’9” of nervous energy that was pacing the hall, each time looking back at apartment 6, hoping the door would open so he wouldn’t have to knock. “Get it together, Eds,” he thought to himself. “This is what you wanted. It’s just Richie.”

Knock, knock, knock.

A groan through the door.

Knock, knock.

A bottle clinked to the floor and some shouted curses. Shuffling. “If this isn’t the fucking pizza guy-”

The lock turned.

“You have five seconds to get the hell out of here.”

The chain slid open. 

Eddie could feel his heartbeat quicken. He didn’t know what to expect. He knew people could see him. He was alive. For whatever it was worth, he was alive and here he was. God, he could only hope Richie wouldn’t be mad.

The door swung open. 

There was a moment of fleeting anger as the person in the hallway had no box of pizza. Had nothing but himself. Richie took a step back and tried to process what was going on in front of him. Neat hair, brown eyes, scar on his cheek. His leather jacket, too big around the man’s slight frame. Richie stepped closer again, letting his hands reach out to touch. The fear of hallucination subsided when his fingers entwined with still gel tacky hair. His hand wandered down to Eddie’s neck and he stopped and stared. “Hey, Richie,” Eddie whispered, voice still wary of its own sound. He didn’t get the chance to do more than greet him before Richie had him in a bone-crushing hug, sobbing and whimpering. 

It was another two days before Richie finally saw fit to let Eddie out of his sight. He had been so afraid that he would disappear that, even after a quick phone call to Stan, Richie wasn’t sold on everything that happened. What he was sold on was that having Eddie in his home was more intoxicating, more habit-forming than anything else in the world. The first night, as they lay side by side, Eddie arbitrarily stated that he wouldn’t touch, wouldn’t encroach, wouldn’t overstep, they kept moving toward each other, helplessly. Richie moved first, his fingers delicately reaching for Eddie’s as they talked quietly about what this all meant. When Richie grew overwhelmed with the thought that, after all this time, Eddie was really there in his bed, he wept openly, leaving Eddie no choice but to sweep him up in his arms. When they both began to doze off, it was, of course, Richie who sealed the deal. His head rested silently on Eddie’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, ensuring that he was still there and that Richie would know if anything changed. Eddie twisted his fingers through Richie’s unruly curls. “I’m not going anywhere Richie, I promise.”

The following morning, Richie woke first, still calmed by the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up next to someone, let alone a man, in his bed that he didn’t immediately jump to the “how am I going to get you out of here” panic. This was Eddie he was talking about, now. The more appropriate question was “how am I going to force myself to get out of this bed when one or both of us inevitably has to without making it seem like I don’t believe you’ll be here when I get back because I don’t necessarily believe you’re here now?” 

It was almost as though Eddie heard his mind whirring. He leaned down and kissed the top of Richie’s head. “Let me up,” he said gently. “I have to shower the plane off of me. Then, we should probably get to some practical conversations.”

“I can do most of the talking,” Richie said, sitting up and letting Eddie out to rifle through Richie’s dresser, settling on a pair of basketball shorts and an old tour t-shirt that would do until there were clothes to be had. “I have your passport and travel lockbox so you’ll be reborn sometime within the next 10 business days. In the interim, you’re staying with me, so no need for a hotel or anything like that. We can go grocery shopping together later, or tomorrow. You’re still legally dead, technically, so you can’t start worrying about work in utero,” he said, following Eddie into the bathroom, sitting cross-legged on the toilet seat beside him. 

Looking at the man whose mouth hadn’t stopped since he’d awoken, Eddie simply laughed to himself. “In utero?”

Richie stood and wrapped his arms around Eddie. “You heard me,” he said, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Isn’t it usually the lesbians who get into a relationship then sign the u-haul agreement?” he laughs, kissing his way up to Eddie’s cheek.

Blushing red hot, Eddie pulls back to look at Richie. “Relationship?” he asks, stunned. He’d been so ready to reprimand him for getting so close to the disgusting reminder of Derry that he hadn’t quite come to terms with yet when he knocked him right out of that line of thinking. “Relationship?” He asked again.

With a laugh, Richie looked at their entwined frames in the mirror. “Yes, relationship,” he said, realizing that they actually probably should have talked about that. “I love you, Eds. You love me. We may be doing this in entirely the wrong order, but I guess if you want me to ask, I will.” He turned Eddie around, their bodies still pressed against each other. “Eddie Kaspbrak, will you marry me?”

Eddie’s eyes widened, shocked. That was not the question he had been expecting.

“I told you that not dying would be the last thing I asked of you until I asked you to marry me,” he said, plainly, as though that explained it. “So, if that was the case, we had already established that I was already sold on the relationship part. We’ve already said I love you, and I don’t mean it in a no-homo way. I mean it in a strictly, very homo, so homo I would like to pick out furniture and china patterns way.” Flabbergasted, Eddie let his thumb gather the fabric of Richie’s shirt into his fist, his body seeming to need something to hold on to, lest he fall out right there. “Here I am, right?” 

Eddie leaned back hard on the sink. “Right,” he agreed, realizing that he really had awoken into a dream.

Rocking back, Richie rested his head against the wall. “So, will you?”

The question hung in the air. Eddie leaned forward and kissed Richie. Once, then twice. Then another half a dozen times. “Yes,” he said, finally breaking the kiss and remembering that there needed to be an answer. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” he said, letting himself get wrapped up in one more kiss, before giving Richie a gentle shove. “Now, will you let me shower?”

“Only if I can help,” Richie jokes, gripping the door frame. Eddie shook his head adamantly, tugging down at the bottom hem of his shirt. “Tease,” he playfully admonished, before closing the door and setting about his morning routine. He flipped his laptop open and pulled up some clothing store websites so that Eddie could get some stuff sent in so that he wouldn’t have to keep wearing too-long athleisure, made a pot of coffee and poured himself a cup before making the bed and straightening up, realizing what a state his usually passably tidy apartment had wound up in in such a short time. As the shower turned off, Richie poured Eddie a cup of coffee, just the way he knew he liked it and put it down on the table next to his. When Eddie came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Richie was a little disappointed that he was fully clothed. “Feel better?” he asked.

Eddie nodded, walking slowly out to where Richie had settled on the couch. He curled up next to him and pressed a gentle kiss to his stubbled jawline. “Thank you,” he said quietly, continuing to stare at him.

“For what?” Richie asked. There was truly nothing to be thankful for. If anything, Richie was pretty sure he was the one who should be thanking his lucky stars. 

Eddie shook his head. “Everything,” he said, feeling a little dumb. “You could have slammed the door in my face the other night. You could at least have made me sleep on the couch,” he stared down at his hands and began picking at a less than pristine cuticle. “I was dead and you were processing that and now…”

Taking him in his arms, Richie supplied, “And now you’re not.”

The sharp push of air through Eddie’s nose startled Richie. He had forgotten the little movements of intimacy, the warmth of breath on skin, the stifled chuckle of someone reading on their phone, just coexisting. “No, I suppose I’m not,” Eddie answered. “But still, you didn’t have to do any of this. I’m not-”

Richie adjusted to face Eddie. “You are.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say-”

“You are, though,” he insisted. “There’s nothing in this world that you’re not.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment. His long lashes fluttered down his cheeks. “I’m not worth the trouble. I’m not even whole.”

Pushing his glasses back up his face, Richie squinted. “You’re certainly some type of -hole, but that hole isn’t spelled the same.” Eddie laughed, despite himself and gave a playful shove, trying to keep Richie from landing the kiss on his cheek he’d been aiming for. Having the advantage of height and leverage, Richie fought back and easily landed on top, with Eddie pinned beneath his legs. “Why do you keep doing that?” he asked.

“Doing what?” Eddie asked innocently.

Richie sat back a little and sighed. “Trying to keep me from kissing you,” he pouted. 

As if to combat the point entirely, Eddie reached up and tugged Richie down into a deep, languid kiss. “Better?” he asked, batting his eyes and trying to wriggle free. However, wriggling may not have been his best idea. “I just think kissing is better when it’s on the mouth,” he said, smiling and leaning up to guide Richie back against the sofa.

This time, Richie just let it happen. “You know,” he muses, “when we were kids, you would look up and to the right when you would lie and say that everything was fine at home. And either there’s something really interesting over my left shoulder,” Richie said swatting at the space, “or there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

Eddie let out a labored sigh. Of course, Richie knew. Of course. “I just don’t want you that close to the scars.”

Instantly, Richie flew into high gear. “Why, do they hurt? God, I haven’t even thought to check…” he disappears into the bathroom, coming back with a tiny first aid kit and the tail of his sentence, “and here you are, Eddie, and you’ve been so calm and, of course, you’re worried about them getting infected. Do you want me to get a real doctor? I mean, there’s a guy who comes to check on me when I need it who’s damn good and super discreet, so he won’t ask a whole lot of questions,” he stops and thinks over the way he’d phrased that and shakes his head as he unscrews the lid from the tiny, travel-sized Neosporin, “which, I know, sounds shady, but I promise you, he just deals with celebrities a lot so he doesn’t go to papers which is kind of the thing we’d be looking for in the time between because ‘yeah, doc, he was dead so we can’t really take him to a hospital but can you give him a look over’ is probably not something this man has-”

For a moment, Eddie watches Richie babble. It’s nice, for a change, to not be the one so ruffled up about health. He leans up and kisses him, a tried and true way to shut him up momentarily. “Richie, I’m fine. They’re healed,” he said, gesturing to his cheek. “See?” Richie relaxed, temporarily, but still looked confused. “But, they’re hideous and gross and I’d get it if the first time you see me with my shirt off, you run for the hills.”

Richie’s heart broke. He slumped forward a little and rested his forehead against Eddie’s. “We’re already in the hills,” he corrected, pointing out the window. “Guess there’s nowhere to run.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. “I can promise you, though, nothing you show me could scare me off.” Eddie closed his eyes and nodded, letting his hands drop to toy with the hem of his shirt. “Remember, I’ll have seen much worse from your mother.”

And just like that, the tension was sucked from the room. Eddie laughed, long and open, falling flat on his back and covering his face in his arms. Satisfied with himself, Richie nodded, trailing his hand up and down the leg Eddie had left draped over his lap. “Do you remember when we were kids and the doctor finally decided that I wasn’t acting out for attention, I just couldn’t see for shit?” he asked idly. Eddie nodded but remained silent. “So, do you remember, the day after, Belch Huggins took my glasses and hid them in the bushes and started calling me all sorts of rancid names?” 

Another nod, but now, Eddie was propped up on his elbows. He wasn’t entirely sure where this was coming from, but yes, come to think of it, he did. Richie turned to face Eddie, his legs folded under the other man’s.

“Then, you remember what happened after?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment. He remembered that he was the one that found the glasses, but it was still kind of foggy. He shook his head, prompting his fiance to continue.

“You hadn’t gotten out to recess yet, so when you found me, I was angrily kicking at a soccer ball and missing every time. You asked where my glasses were. I told you that I hated them and threw them away,” he said, he let his hands tickle long and slow up and down Eddie’s still toned legs, runner’s legs. “You said that that was a shame because you, Bill, and Stan had written me a note, but now I was never gonna be able to read it, so you guessed I was just gonna be out of the loop forever.”

Eddie covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. He could be such a passive-aggressive little shit at times, it was a wonder to him that any of the Losers dealt with it. “Yeah, you little bitch, you did that,” Richie laughed, “So, my sensitive ass started to cry because you guys were gonna have fun without me because,” he switched into a high pitched sniffle, “Belch Hug-Gins stole my guh-la-ha-sses and he th-threw the-hem in the mu-hu-huuud,” he wailed. Noticing the shine in Eddie’s eyes, he nudged a little closer. “So, you marched right over to the place I had pointed and found them for me, wiped them off, and put them back on.” 

Eddie smiled, “Couldn’t have you tripping off the curb without me there to clean you up,” he said.

“That, and you said, and I quote, ‘Even if you hate ‘em, Richie, they’re a part of you. And I like you. So, I like them.” Richie reached up and gently brushed his thumb over the scar on Eddie’s left cheek. For a moment, he thought the hand Eddie was bringing to his face would be to pry his away. Instead, he just joined it over top of Richie’s and pressed it a little harder. “Now, is it okay if I look at the one on your chest, just to make sure it’s as healed as you say?”

There was the briefest of times where Richie was sure Eddie was going to say no. If he had, he’d have dropped it. Instead, he nodded and guided his hand to the same hem he’d been worrying at since he’d gotten out of the shower. Just like that, the shirt was off, removed by the pair together, revealing the cause of the most pain either of them had ever experienced. Richie’s traitorous mind flashed images of pools of black blood and agony. It replayed the splatter on his glasses as Eddie was pulled off of him and flung across the chamber. But he moved through the memory with one trembling, outstretched hand and danced careful fingers across the fading pink lines. He laid his hand flat on the largest, puckered expanse of torso and felt the rhythm of his heart beneath it. Somehow, after all that trauma, that same heart came back to life and that same heart still loved him. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the scar. He then repeated the motion over and over again. When he finally stopped, he lingered just above his face. “I love you, Eddie. No stipulations. No fine print.”

Leaning up, Eddie caught Richie’s mouth in a short kiss. “Not that you could read it anyway, four-eyes,” he teased. 

The pair laughed together, there on that couch, for the bulk of the afternoon, sharing memories they’d long since forgotten and planning out the ones yet to come.

> Stanley (5:17 pm): Did you die again? I don’t know if we can get you a way out of it this time. 
> 
> Stanley (5:29 pm): Eds, I haven’t been out of contact with you for this long in over a month. Literally just slam your hand down on the phone so I know you’re alive.
> 
> Stanley (5:31 pm): 29 minutes and I’m calling the cops. You’ve been warned.

Richie and Eddie both stared at the offending device which had vibrated off of the coffee table and awoken them with a terrifying thud. Reaching it first, Richie fired off a response to the menace.

> Eddie (5:34 pm): call the cops stan im sure hteyll be cool wit the necrophilia also hi stan u coulda called or sumthn but noooooo just come back to life nd tell the losers when u feel like it dude its cool nbd

With a surprising amount of force, Eddie managed to wrench his phone from Richie’s ridiculously long arms and took off before he could answer for him again.

> Stanley (5:35 pm): You’re amazing, Richie. You can’t spell “they’ll” but you can spell “necrophilia.” Also, apart from you, me, and his widow, how many people know Eddie’s alive? You were the only one I hadn’t told because I figured it would have been part of Eddie’s explanation. 
> 
> Eddie (5:37 pm): Not Richie this time I’m alive but You won’t be if you keep interrupting
> 
> Stanley (5:37 pm): Enjoy your man. Call me tomorrow.

Turning his phone off and plugging it in in the kitchen, Eddie looked back across the apartment to see Richie sprawled on the couch pouting and making grabby hands for him. Eddie laughed and moved to return to his spot, pressed up against his chest. 

Some 27 years prior, if anyone had asked Eddie what he wanted, he would never have been able to verbalize it in a million years. But it was this.

It was always this.

**Author's Note:**

> How is everyone holding up? Isolation is driving me bonkers, so I'm keeping my soft boys close to make sure I don't forget what people are like. Productivity who??
> 
> Please stay safe, loves. 
> 
> (For the record, do you wanna know a good 20 second cut? "Eddie, my love. I'm sinking fast. Your very next day might be my last. Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long." You're welcome.)


End file.
